


Into the Abyss

by sinisterside



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Multi, Orgy, Suicide Attempt, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinisterside/pseuds/sinisterside
Summary: ON HIATUS, but I'll be working on it some more soon.She was filth, beneath him. Hermione Granger was exactly where she belonged, in service to him. Their world gave him the ability to do as he pleased. And it pleased him greatly to force the once proud mudblood into his submission. Draco Malfoy never dreamed that dragging her into his abyss, would take him as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of this is just my spin on things. J.K. Rowling owns the series. 
> 
> This story is going to be dark, and have lost of explicit material within it. Just a fair warning to those who read it.  
> Deathly Hallows is mostly disregarded and this is not canon compliant. I took inspiration from parts of Roman society within this story, hence the slavery and usage of those people. Its a work in progress and I will be periodically updating and revising as needed. It's been awhile since I have written anything sof forgive me for any errors in grammar and usage. I attempt to fix them as I find the! ;)Any constructive criticism is welcome!

The roughness of the cold brick she held her head against had left little indents in her forehead. She kept her feet tucked closely against her in a futile attempt at warmth. The cell was damp, and the scent of despair hung over the occupants. She scrunched her nose up in a desperate bid to avoid the putrid smell of sickness and human waste. It didn’t work. Her long brown hair was greasy, and matted. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bathed or even had a decent place to sleep.

The one thing Hermione Granger could remember was the demise of her world. Harry Potter had failed. Voldemort had won the Battle of Hogwarts, and the last anyone had heard Harry Potter was found dead in the Forbidden Forest. His supporters that weren’t killed had two choices, bow their knee or face death. Most chose the first option, very few the latter. The Muggle-born Registration Committee continued its noble work of gathering all muggleborns. Aurors no longer hunted dark wizards, rather they turned their sights on more formidable foes…. Muggleborns, blood traitors, and anyone else who stood in the way of the Dark Lord’s vision. 

However, Voldemort was a “merciful” ruler. Half-bloods were exempt to this, and enjoyed the same protections and courtesies afforded purebloods. It came with a price of course. They were to submit to Voldemort’s law and will, no exceptions, and cut ties to any muggleborns, including family. It was a steep price, but one many paid, willingly or not. Hermione couldn’t blame them. They had children and families to think about, but the betrayal stung no less. Muggleborns were given no such quarter. They had three futures, and they didn’t even have the choice in that. It was either a life of torture in Azkaban, until the mind cracked.  Secondly, an instant and merciful death. That was a fate rarely given. Last, but infinitely worse than the others was slavery. Yes, slavery.

In the two four years since Harry Potter’s defeat, the wizarding world had allowed what it considered its betters to own and use the “inferiors.” Purebloods and half-bloods could purchase captured muggleborns for whatever purpose they deemed necessary. The majority was for household reasons, cleaning and cooking and any other menial task they could drudge up. There were no protections in place for muggleborns, and the cruelest took advantage of this. Hermione had heard rumors that some families that were throwing massive parties would purchase slaves for whatever entertainment the guest saw fit to. A small shudder went through her emaciated body. She would rather face death then see herself to that fate.

One may wonder about the house elves. They were still there slaving away as always, but it was convenient for the Ministry to allow muggleborn slaves. It kept them in their place, provided free labor that house elves were unable to undertake, and kept the ever tightening grip of the Death Eaters in place. It was what many conquering groups throughout history had done, and it worked, for a time at least.

Hermione felt the warmth of tears as they gathered in her eyes. She tried to hold them back, but the spilled out, down her cheeks, leaving little rivers of defeat.

“Don’t.” A hardened voice beside her whispered. “Don’t let them see you break down. Don’t you dare give them that fucking pleasure.”

Hermione swiped her hand across her cheeks, inwardly cursing her friend. Ginny Weasley was headstrong and fiery, traits Hermione had always admired in her. Yet, this was not the time or place to exhibit such. She didn’t bother to reply back that they would break them all, eventually in some form or fashion. There were several others all cramped together in this small cell. Hermione hadn’t bothered to see who else was I there. Did it really matter at this point?

He slapped his dragon skin gloves down on the desk. His foot tapped impatiently against the worn down wooden floors. Draco had waited far pass the time he normally would for a vendor. He glanced around the room his nose turning up in disgust at its filth and decrepit state. He certainly hoped the goods were in better shape, he doubted that though. Finally, the door swung open and a short man with bedraggled clothes, and thinning hair stepped in. He wrung his hands nervously as he glanced at the time then back to Draco.

“Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to keep you waiting. We had a situati-“

Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Never mind with the excuses. I’m here to place an order.”

The weasel like man scurried forward, grasping round his desk for a clipboard with parchment on it. He almost knocked over a pot of ink onto Draco’s gloves. His eyes widened as he glanced up at Draco, who was glaring back down at him.

“Yes, sir. I had a new shipment come in about two weeks ago. A fine lot, several girls in it and a few strapping men.”

Draco shuffled his shoe at what looked to be the remains of a dead mouse. He drew his foot back, and grimaced. _He bet it was a “fine lot” indeed._ “I’ll take them all. Send the invoice to Gringotts, they will fulfill the payment.”

He turned to leave, but the little man stopped him. “All of them? But sir, there are 7 and wouldn’t you like to examine them at first?”

Draco did not turn around. He slowly eased on his gloves as he spoke. “No, I would not like to examine them. I’m not interested in their fifth. I am merely interested in their benefits later.” He cleared his throat as he continued walking toward the door. “I expect them cleaned up, presentable and examined. I will return to retrieve them tomorrow.” The door slammed shut behind him, and the already broken window rattled in its pane. The small man jumped, his clipboard dropping to the ground. He scurried to pick it up, and wheezed as he ran out the door to get Draco Malfoy’s request in order.

She heard the clipping sound of the woman’s heels before she saw her. Hermione raised her head slightly as she heard the groaning of the hinges on the cell door. It was being opened, were they finally being hauled off to their death? She watched as a burly man came through with wiry hair on his arms and a sour look on his face. He walked through them, glancing at the colored tags on their wrists. He jerked up several different ones shoving them out the door. He glanced down at Hermione’s tag, and roughly pulled her up by her arm. She cried out as his fingers dug into her. Ginny sprang into action behind her, landing a kick into the man’s bulging gut. He grunted, but it did little else to him.

He slung Hermione forward, as she stumbled she fell into the bars of the cell. She felt the burn as it scraped her face. She struggled to get back on her knees, but was grabbed by another guard, who dragged her the remaining way. She glanced back to see Ginny struggling against being pulled out.

“I’d rather die right here, you fucking prick.” She shouted into the burly guard’s face. Hermione started to warn her not to fight, when the guard pulled back his hand and delivered a blow to Ginny’s face. It slung her around, her red hair whipping over the rest of her face. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Ginny had gone limp, and she feared he may have snapped her neck.

“She isn’t dead,” was his only remark as he pulled her behind him. Her face was being scraped along the stone floor, and Hermione cringed, knowing that her body would be black and blue with bruises. They walked a short distance before the woman that had originally came down spoke something to one of the guards. A door was opened and they were thrust through it. The room was well lit, with shrouds covering large tubs. Hermione inhaled the sweet smell of soap. Her short lived moment of nostalgia was quickly smashed by the realization of what was going on. They had been sold or were going to be.

Several other servants came forward grabbing them, stripping them down to nothing without a concern for privacy. Hermione was shoved into the tub, its freezing water catching her off guard. The servant grabbed a bar of soap and roughly rubbed it over her body. She attempted a scream, but it came out as a gurgled screech, as the servant dunked her head under the water. She was pulled back up swiftly. Her eyes stung as the suds from the soap ran down her face. She bit back tears as a comb was ran repeatedly through her matted hair. It seemed like an eternity, but with a final brush it was done.

She found herself led to a table and commanded to get on it. She did so, albeit shakily. She was not given a single minute before the door swung open and the woman in heels came in. She did not look at Hermione, merely mumbled something to the servant. Hermione was pushed backwards, and her hands held down. A second servants he had not noticed behind the woman, grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs apart. Hermione tried to squeeze them shut again, but her resistance was met with pain as the servant tightened her grip.

The woman stepped forward and gave Hermione’s body a quick glance. She put on a glove and with no warning or anything to ease her movement, she slipped two fingers roughly inside of Hermione. Hermione cringed, her body trying to scoot backwards to move away from the intrusion. It was over as quickly as it had begun. She was directed toward a pile of clothes and told to get dressed. As the door closed, Hermione bent over the table, the silent cries only evident by the tears streaming down. She couldn’t believe this was her fate, anything but this, even death. She quickly dressed, not wanting to see the repercussions for not being ready when they returned.

It was mere moments later when she was rounded up and led out to join the others. They were brought to a room with a few wooden chairs that looked ready to collapse. The door slammed shut behind them and Hermione didn’t bother to even look back.

“Hermione!” A voice cried out. Hermione turned to see Ginny running towards her. The two girls embraced, hugging each other tightly.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked, her eyes glancing about the room nervously.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been sol Ginny.”

Ginny’s brows furrowed. “Sold? Like cattle? To whom?”

Hermione shrugged and shook her head. She had no clue, nor did she want to. It was better not knowing. The voice of another woman in a room caught Hermione’s attention. There was a thin woman with long blonde hair who was crouched over another girl. She was attempting to comfort the sobbing creature who was taking this worse than the rest. Hermione moved toward her, her hands pulling the woman around by her arms.

“Luna?”

Luna Lovegood turned around, the surprise etched across her face. “Hermione, Ginny?” She glanced behind Hermione as Ginny, who was equally shocked. “I didn’t know either of you were still alive.” There were tears in her eyes as she reached out to the other two women.

Their reunion was cut short as the door reopened. The bitch in heels came back through, and stood at the front of the room. “You have been purchased by a revered and honored family. They will be arriving within moments to collect you. You will behave. You will not provoke, insult or attack them in any way. You will address them with respect. If you can’t manage to do this, you will die. It won’t be quick nor will it be merciful. I will personally assure that.” The twisted smile that formed on her face made Hermione want to shrink back into the wall.

Her attention to the speaker was averted by the sound of steps approaching their room. Hermione felt her heart drop, her stomach wanted to expel the little contents it had onto the floor. The white blonde approaching them in long strides was nothing short of the spawn of Satan. He had barely glanced over the group when he motioned one of his companions forward.

“Get them out of here and home.” The companion gave a short bow and began to pull them all forward through the door. Hermione held back toward the end of the group, hoping to go unnoticed. Her fear and dread grew as the blonde watched them proceed out of the room. She watched the spark of recognition in his eyes as Ginny and Luna walked by. She saw his eyes flit though the rest of them and land on her.

They locked gazes. His cold, piercing grey eyes cut through her. She hesitated briefly, but Draco’s companion shoved her past him and into the hallway. Her heart beat fast within her chest. She couldn’t imagine the thoughts of being forced into servitude, but certainly not to the Malfoy family.

Draco poured himself a full glass of his father’s best bourbon. Lucius Malfoy glanced up briefly from his work in front of him to grimace at the action. His son took too much pleasure in drinking, and far too often. It was not becoming a man of his status, nor was it a healthy habit. He chose not to say anything though and resumed his writing.

Draco sat down in a large plushy chair, and settled his glass on the arm of it.

“I picked up that shipment you wanted, father.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you Draco.”

He watched as his father continued to scribble across his parchment, probably to one of his many “business” affiliates. He hesitated, wanting to speak, but unsure of how to approach his request.

“I wanted to ask something of you, sir.”

Lucius sighed and placed his quill down. He leaned back into his chair, and places his hands together giving Draco an inquisitive stare.

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting a request of you Draco. If you want it you normally take it, so you’ve piqued my curiosity. What is it?”

Draco took a sip of his bourbon, letting its warmth encourage him. “That shipment you bought. There’s a few slaves I know in it.”

Lucius nodded his head. “Go on.”

“It’s Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger.”

Lucius leaned forward, a smile spreading across his lips. “We have the “brightest ‘witch’ of her age” do we?” He clapped his hands together. “Excellent. This will be even more entertaining for your mother’s annual gala.”

Draco tried not to roll his eyes. Every year since their victory his mother had thrown a huge party inviting everyone and providing every debauchery known to their kind. Draco enjoyed attending, but this year he believed he might have just had his fill of it.

“Yeah, the examiner said there were three virgins. So, I imagine you will fill your coffers with the auction on those again.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be impertinent Draco. Those favors buy us friends, and there is always a reason to need friends.”

He looked down, refusing to meet his father’s gaze. ‘Friends’, he called them or allies or whatever name you wanted to throw on that. It was bribery, plain and simple. His father used money, sex, and whatever else at his disposal. Draco couldn’t sit there and say he felt ashamed of it, he didn’t. He just wasn’t interested in making “friends.”

“Anyway. There’s one I want.”

“You want? You want one of those scum?”

“Not for what you think Father. I just want to show her that in the end I won. I want her to have to serve me at every turn. To know that I am her master, and I hold her measly life in the palm of my hand.”

Lucius inhaled deeply, his fingers pressed to his lips. “Okay, Draco. I agree to this strange request. Pick her out, but do so before your mother finishes planning her party. After that you will have to deal with her. I doubt she’s going to give up one of her pets for entertainment to her son’s personal agenda.” He gave Draco a small smile, before he turned his attention back down to his work.

Draco stood up and finished his glass of bourbon, setting it down quietly by the decanter. He headed toward the bottom corridor of Malfoy manor, just above the dungeons. It was dimly lit, there was several wooden doors inside the stone walls on either side of the corridor. They were all locked from the outside. It was their slave corridor, including those slimy little house elves. The last room was much larger as it held their newest additions until they were assigned a room. Outside the door one of his father’s stooges, Rufus Barnaby, stood watch.

“Barnaby!” Draco’s voice roused the man from his daydreaming. He stood up straighter and looked down the corridor with a nervous twitch, half expecting to see Lucius standing there rather than Draco.

“Yes, Draco. I apologize.”

Draco ignored his mumbled apology. “I don’t care if you sleep here all day. I need you to bring up Hermione Granger, the girl with the brown hair.”

“To where sir?”

“To my corridor, the room next mine will suffice.”

Barnaby hesitated. “Your father?”

“My father is well aware, and even if he wasn’t I just gave you a direct command, so do it.” He turned sharply on his heel, and proceeded back toward the corridor entrance and up a small set of steps that was a shortcut to the upper corridors.

 

Hermione stood alone in the room. Her mind heavy with trepidation. The guard, Barnaby or something had taken her up here, and locked the door behind her. She looked at the small mark on her wrist, and rubbed a finger across it. It was the tiniest of **_Ms_** , but it’s meaning was clear. She was branded, like a cow. They had placed some sort of magic on them all as they had entered. They would be unable to leave the grounds, unless accompanied by a member of the family or given leave to do so. They were forever bound to the House of Malfoy. She felt sickened by her plight.

She took a few steps forward, the carpet feeling luxurious beneath her bare feet. The room was decorated in a mint green, still a shade of green, she thought wryly to herself. The bed was larger, larger than any she had slept in the last few years. There was an adjacent bathroom with a porcelain tub lined in gold. Small faucets circled around it, and she couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would feel to slip into the warmth of a good bath. Her thoughts on the little pleasures were abruptly interrupted as the door in the far wall swung opened.

Hermione watched as Draco leaned against the door frame. He studied his hand for a brief moment before he turned those steely eyes onto her. Her gaze went over his shoulder into the room behind him. She was going with her gut, that it belonged to him. He continued to stare at her, his eyes unflinching in their cold assessment of her.

She was thin, too thin. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and he could see her collarbones protruding out. Her long hair had been groomed, but was still unhealthy. The stresses of being on the run had not done Hermione Granger any favors. She was as filthy as she had always been. Her outward appearance only mimicked what the blood pumping through her veins was. Dirty.

He stood up straight, his height even more pronounced as he came toward her. Hermione was not short by any means, but Draco was taller and his stout stature made her feel dwarfed in comparison. The look in his eyes made her nervous, she took one step backwards, but felt the sturdy, Oak door behind her. His lips turned up in a cold smile.

“There is nowhere to go Granger. Nowhere to hide.”

Hermione swallowed as he stopped an arm’s reach from her.

“You know Granger; I have to say I never thought I would get the joy of this day. I always figured you were in some hole hiding with the rest of the filth.” He cocked his head slightly sideways, giving her a measured look.

“I knew you weren’t dead. Not you, you’re too clever for that. Yet, for all your cleverness here we are, In my house, under my rule. And that’s just why I’m here granger.”

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them. He leaned in to her his face barely a few inches away from hers. His eyes bore holes into hers.

“You’re mine, you filthy mudblood bitch. When I say jump, I expect you to ask ‘how high master?’ Because you are nothing. You are what is wrong with this world, an abnormality, a mutation. Your kind will be eradicated in due time, but first you’re going to serve me as you should. Because I’m the only thing that stands between you and death.”

Hermione’s chest heaved, she was not sure which emotion raged harder within he soul, fear or rage. Either way they were of small comfort to her in this moment. “Perhaps death would be preferable then.”

Draco’s nostrils flared at her insult. His hand reached out to grip her chin. “Be careful. There are some who might hear that and take you up on the offer.”

“One can only hope.”

He dropped his hand from her chin. “You’re disgusting you understand that don’t you? Your impurity endangers us all. When I’m done with you, I can promise you that you won’t speak of death so casually Granger. You will weep for it.”

Draco left her standing against the door. He slammed the door shut that connected their rooms. Her blatant disrespect irked him, but her resilience was admirable, for now.

Hermione slid down against the old door. She wrapped her arms around herself, telling herself she had to be strong, she had to withstand. She knew even then that was a lie. Anyone could hope to survive, but hope was fleeting and how long could she possibly think of holding onto a fleeting lie?


	2. Family Affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter. Things are slow on my end because college, that explains it all. I know this is slow, but it does pick up in time. Thank you for reading! As always constructive criticism is appreciated, flaming is not!

The warmth of the rays of sun spread across her face. Her lungs inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air. She had been at Malfoy Manor for a mere week, but it still felt as if it were an eternity. For the first time since her arrival, Hermione was allowed outside. She stood behind a large rose bush that was growing unruly. Narcissa Malfoy had demanded that the entire manor and grounds be impeccable for upcoming event. Every slave was utilized and expected to create perfection for her guests.  She winced as a thorn pricked the delicate skin on her fingertip. She lifted the finger up to her mouth, tasting her blood as she sucked it up.

Her brown eyes followed Narcissa’s movements, wishing nothing but the cruelest of fates would befall that woman. Hermione continued to trim the outer edges of the rose bush. Her hand bumped against one of the blooms, causing a few snow white petals to fall on the ground. Her knees the ground quickly, while she attempted to desperately hide the broken petals. It was the crunching sound of grass being trampled that alerted her to his presence. She glanced up from the ground to see a pair of perfectly polished black shoes standing before her. Her gaze slowly went up his tailored pant legs to eventually meet up with his condescending stare.

“Well, Granger, isn’t this an opportunistic moment?” He looked pointedly at her position on her knees. Hermione scrambled to stand up, but he roughly pushed her back down. The mixture of mulch and trimmed stems with thorns, tore into her knees.

Draco grinned coldly at her. “I wonder what it would be like for you to suck my cock?” He started to unzip his pants. Hermione’s eyes widened, and she looked up at him pleadingly. His underwear covered him, but he grabbed her head with no sense of gentleness. His fingers wrapped into her hair as he shoved her face crudely into his crotch. Hermione squirmed trying to back away, but his strong grip held her in place.

Suddenly he threw her backwards, her head hitting with a thud against the ground. She winced, placing a hand against the sore spot starting to now throb.

“Do you really think I would let you put your mouth on me?” Draco sneered down at the pathetic woman in front of him. Her torn and ragged clothes were far too large for her emaciated body. Her eyes flashed upwards at him for the briefest second of defiance before they shifted back to the ground. He opened his mouth to taunt her, but was quickly interrupted by his mother.

“Stop tormenting my slaves, Draco. They have work to be doing, unless you would prefer to take their place?” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her son, her arms crossed across her chest. Draco mumbled something while shooting a foreboding glance at Hermione. He turned around and briskly walked back into the manor. Hermione dared a small glimpse at Narcissa, who to her surprise was watching her son’s retreating back with a mixture of concern and anger.  Hermione quickly dropped her gaze back down as Narcissa shifted her head around to give Hermione a pointed stare.

“Well? Get up! This shrubbery isn’t going to trim itself. I have barely over a month to get it in order. Don’t force me to make you pull you weight.”

Hermione rose up, dusting off her clothes. She bit he tongue to keep the sharp retort from passing through her lips. _They could just use simple magic, rather than slaves working to the bone. Yet, that would take the fun out of it wouldn’t it?_ Hermione picked up the pruning scissors and continued to cut, imagining with each snip of a leaf that it was a Member of the Malfoy family.

It was well after dark when Hermione was summoned to the kitchens, by Itsy, the family’s head house elf. Yes, apparently even house elves have a leadership role within their systematic slavery. One that Itsy took to heart and with great pride. Hermione didn’t bother to ask why she was being forced to serve the Malfoy’s dinner, but she imagined a sharp-faced, blonde prick had something to do with it. She made her way out with a platter of fresh bread, the steam still rolling off of it into her face. As she placed the platter on the table she could see out of the corner of her eye a stern faced Lucius glowering at Draco. She turned quickly to leave, but Narcissa stopped her.

“You.” Her voice clearly was speaking to Hermione, although her eyes never left her husband and son. “Stay over there and serve the wine when needed.” That was it. Hermione felt like a dog. Sit. Stay. Go. Their simplistic commands meant to demean her even further. Of course, she wasn’t expecting an all-expense paid vacation when she was sold into slavery. It was still a fact she had not come to terms with. Her mind wondered to how Ginny, Luna and the others were faring. She had only caught small glimpse of them in between her duties, but she worried greatly for Ginny. The girl was smart, and fiery. A complement at any other time, but now was not the time to allow one’s emotions to rule one’s tongue.

Hermione was brought from her thoughts at the sudden silence around the table. She looked up and noticed all three Malfoy’s staring at her, glasses empty. _Damn_ , she thought, _those were literally full three minutes ago._ She picked up the bottle and made her way around the table filling each glass just slightly under the rim. She leaned over to pour the final glass for Draco, and her hair grazed over his arm. He flinched away as if he had been touched by something slimy. His mouth opened but his words were silenced by Lucius’s cold voice.

“I know this was not what you wanted to hear son, but you must do your duty.”

Hermione edged away from the table, quickly hurrying back to the small cabinet of wine and replacing the bottle. She eased herself against hoping that her presence wouldn’t be needed again. The tone of Lucius’s voice, and the demeanor of Draco’s body said all that needed saying. Tonight would not be a cordial family affair.

“Frankly father,” Draco spoke as he tore a piece of bread apart violently with his hands. “I fail to see why WE need to do anything. There is no benefit to us with this.”

The loud frustrating sigh of Lucius clearly bespoke of his weariness with Draco’s insolence. “You’re nineteen; you’re a man. It is time to get this over with and move forward. Marriage to the Parkinson girl has many benefits. Money, connections, furthering our line and the Dark Lord approved of it.”

“Since when does the Dark Lord approve of anything except that fucking worm Nagini he keeps as a pet.”

Narcissa’s intake of breath reverberated around the room. “Draco!”

Lucius’s face paled, his eyes narrowed in on his son. “You would do well to remember that this family has managed to survive for a thousand years because we watched what we said. That long line of common sense will not end with you Draco. I tire of your insolence, and your lack of responsibility. Perhaps the marriage to the Parkinson’s will reduce the one and give you the other.”

Draco stood up abruptly, his glass flying to the floor. He looked at its red stain spreading across his mother’s carpet. His eyes flitted over to Hermione. “Well slave, clean it up.”

Hermione hurried over, the linen she laid down quickly soaking up the spilt wine. Draco turned his attention back to his father.

“I will not marry that harping bitch. I’d rather die than assume a lifetime of misery.”

Lucius stood up slowly across from his son. “And what do you think will happen to your family, your mother if you don’t marry her? The Dark Lord gets what the Dark Lord wants. And Pansy’s father captured Kingsley Shacklebolt last month. His reward is his daughter’s hand in marriage and they want you.”

Draco swallowed his gaze shifting to his mother. The woman who protected and sheltered him. The one woman who had never betrayed him. He would not allow his mother to suffer to spare his own suffering. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Fine father, sign a marriage contract and let this be done.”

Draco tossed his linen napkin down on the table and left without another word. Hermione continued soaking up the mess he had eft behind. She listened as Lucius and Narcissa muttered between each other.

“That boy is beyond incorrigible.”

“Now Lucius, he has an enormous weight on his shoulders.”

“As do we all or have you forgotten that fact?”

“No! I haven’t forgotten that we are all in this mess, because of choices made years ago. Your choices if I do recall, Lucius.”

Lucius’s chair scraped back as he got up from it. “My appetite is lost.” He walked out of the dining hall, leaving Hermione and Narcissa alone. Hermione kept her eyes down on the floor, continuing the task at hand. The silence was only broken by the ringing of a crystal glass being emptied and refilled several times. Hermione stood up, her hands full of wine stained rags. She glanced over at Narcissa unsure of what she should do next.

Narcissa dismissively waved her hand at her. “Leave it to the house elves and get out of my sight.”

Hermione nodded and hurriedly left the cold woman behind. She slowly walked up the two flights of stairs to her room. She felt no joy at returning there. There would be no peace or quiet. Draco was sure to be there, taunting as always. Hermione opened the old creaking door and stepped inside. She tiptoed across the floor hoping if she was quiet enough Draco would not know she was back. She struck a match and lit a small candle by her bedside. Her squeal of fright sounded out against the night. Draco lounged against her window, a decanter half full loosely held between is fingers.

He made no movement at her shriek. He was staring out the window into the night, his eyes barely blinking. Hermione stood stock still. She did not want to converse with him in anyway, but she also did not want to spend the night with a creepy, disillusioned Draco staring out of her window.

“Did you need something?” her voice was low and polite, a small attempt at avoiding confrontation.

“My lord.”

“Pardon?” her brows creased with cluelessness.

“It’s ‘do you need something, my lord’ Granger. Merlin, I thought you were the smartest witch of your age. Surely, you understand proper greeting etiquette.”

The words slipped out before she could catch them.

“I thought that was a greeting to superiors not inferiors.”

That pulled Draco’s attention away from his stupor. He turned around giving her his timeless cold stare. He sized her up, and took a clumsy drunken step forward, the another. A few steps later he stood within inches of her.

“Inferiors?” He took a swig from the decanter. “Would you really like to get into that debate? Consider your position first, mudblood.”

“My position as your slave, hardly qualifies me as your inferior, Malfoy.”

“But your blood does, Granger.”

There was nothing to say. It was the same tiresome argument and Hermione had no energy to continue playing it out over and over. She moved to go around him, but his hand grabbed her wrist. He pulled her back to him. The smell of her hair hit his nostrils. A mixture between roses, and honey. He had caught a whiff of it at dinner, and he would be lying to himself if he hadn’t found it attractive. It was simple, yet seductive.

His gaze fell to her chest, as her breasts moved ever so slightly up and down with her breathing. His eyes travelled up to her face. Her full lips and her eyes, those eyes that held more intelligence than he could credit a pureblood woman with. He dropped her wrist, and his fingers touched her shoulder where a small bruise was forming. The alabaster skin was marred but still beautiful. His finger slowly trailed down her shoulder and arm. Her skin quivered under his touch and his gaze jolted to her eyes. She could barely make out his mumbled words but he roughly sounded like “so innocent.”

Draco instantly jerked his hand away. His signature stare returning. He bowed mockingly. “I bid you adieu, Granger.”  He slammed the door shut behind him.  The fact he even thought about touching her, thought about her charms, made Draco recoil inside. She was filth. The fact remained that filth or not, his body was clearly showing its reaction to her. A reaction he cursed as he threw the reminder of the burning liquor down his throat.

Hermione sat down on her bed, clearly confused by the strange interaction. She was no expert on men, but the look in Malfoy’s eyes before he pulled away was something. Lust, desire? Hermione convinced herself it was simply the alcohol, and as with all cads, it drew them to any female presence. What perked her interests more was the dynamics of this family unit and the fact that their world seemed to be teetering on the edge of a steep cliff. One she hoped she could somehow, someway send tumbling right over.


End file.
